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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767116">Nights Like These</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DunmerLover/pseuds/DunmerLover'>DunmerLover</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>You And I [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warhammer 40.000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Deepthroating, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Inquisition, Master/Acolyte, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex, Scratching, Size Difference</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:48:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DunmerLover/pseuds/DunmerLover</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Work on the Psychic Scourge nears its end, and Inquisitor Drogan hasn't slept in days. His closest Interrogator can hardly stand to see him go on like this.</p><p>Surely... there must be <i>something</i> she can do for him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Inquisitor Drogan/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>You And I [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nights Like These</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I've written about Inquisitor <s>Husbando</s> Drogan before, and this time I wanted to write something a little more consensual. I fully intended <i>Fool's Gold</i> to be the ONLY thing I ever wrote about him but things don't always turn out how you want. Anastasia (who anyone who's read <i>Fool's Gold</i> will be kinda familiar with already) happened, and their story happened, and things are going to keep on happening. I have lots to write about these two - and most of it won't actually be smut.</p><p>But this is. This story here takes place approximately 2-5 days pre-canon, before the thing happened to Drogan that I don't want to talk about because I don't want to spoil a 9 year-old game for anyone (seriously, if you haven't played <i>Space Marine</i>, just like, go play it. Right now. It's an amazing game)</p><p>The only other thing I felt I <i>really</i> needed to mention was that Drogan has almost no back story. I've taken a LOT of artistic liberty on filling in all those massive blanks. The more stories I write, the more obvious this will be.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Since leaving her feudal homeworld all those years ago, it had been necessary for Anastasia to relocate several times for the sake of her work. Inquisitor Drogan had an estate on Elysia - a civilised world in the Segmentum Solar, and he had apartments and penthouses on tactically-chosen worlds all across the galaxy, and in her forty-something years of service to him, Anastasia had seen many of them. She - and the others within the Inquisitor’s innermost circle of colleagues - had resided on some of those worlds for far longer than others, and Graia, home of the colossal research facility… was turning out to be one of the longer stays.</p><p>And as it happened, some worlds tended to make better homes than others.</p><p>Anastasia sighed to herself - actually it was more a frustrated huff into the silent chamber - as she turned over in her bed once again, under the covers, slamming a pillow over her eyes in a bid to block out the light. Graia was decidedly <i>not</i> one of the better worlds. If the measurement of time was Terran standard, it took the Forge world some dozen weeks to complete a single rotation on its own axis, and as a result of this the planet suffered long days. <i>Extremely</i> long days.</p><p>With all the lights out, there wasn’t much light to speak of in the bedroom, yet the blackout blinds weren’t exactly perfect. Their edges, fluttering ever so slightly in a stifling breeze that filtered through the open window behind, betrayed the harsh light outside that had tormented the Interrogator for weeks. Sleep didn’t come easy during nights like this.</p><p>It might not have been much light, but after suffering it such a long time - with no respite whatsoever - what little still breached into her chamber was maddening. It had been several years since they’d first come to Graia, and Anastasia could live here for a hundred more… and still would <i>never</i> be used to the long days. And the nights, equally drawn-out, consuming the hours of their standard days - the working hours, were hardly better. Seasonal depression was a thing, after all.</p><p>It was no wonder the Tech-priests pulled out anything vaguely human and stuffed machine parts in its place, Anastasia thought grimly to herself as she lay there, mulling over that notion with what she could only conclude was some sense of visceral horror. Perhaps it was the only way to <i>feel</i> human on a world like this.</p><p>Again she huffed in annoyance, as though it might change anything. It felt like she’d been laying there for hours, just trying to become tired in the first place. If at any point she <i>had</i> gotten tired, she wasn’t any more. Needless to say, sleep wouldn’t come for some hours now - if the sunlight outside, testing her sanity, wasn’t enough… she had far too much on her mind.</p><p>Even as she tried to force her mind to relax, unwelcome thoughts raced about her head and there was no stopping them. The acolyte couldn’t deny what was bothering her so much - she wasn’t the only one in the facility who was wide awake when they shouldn’t be.</p><p>As work on the Psychic Scourge finally neared its end, after so many long years of graft on the part of an untold number of people, and as preparations began to test the full scope of its awesome power for the first time… the Inquisitor holding the reins only became more and more obsessive over his project. Far from a weight being lifted from his mind, it would seem Drogan was more dysfunctional now than the Interrogator had ever seen him be.</p><p>Indeed, he hadn’t actually slept in days.</p><p>That much was fact. At no point had Anastasia - or any of the others she questioned - seen or even heard him return to the facility’s hab levels for quite some time, and no matter how late she retired to bed - or how early she rose - Drogan would still be down there, working fervently on <i>something</i>. Something he didn’t need to do. Something <i>any</i> of the Tech-priests could handle. He’d always been something of a control freak, and now so much needed to be controlled, so much needed to be <i>perfect</i>, he was stuck to the Scourge like glue.</p><p>And it bothered her to watch it happen. The Interrogator decided, as she kicked off her meagre covers to cool down a little, that there was no crime in feeling that way. No <i>shame</i> to be had in admitting it. She and the Inquisitor were no longer an item - it had been some years since all <i>that</i> came crashing down around them - but she didn’t care for him any less now than she did back then.</p><p>Anastasia reached out, clawing at her bedside lamp until finding the switch, and pressing it in. As the chamber, already unbearably bright, filled with the yellowed, artificial light that threw the molded fixings on the walls into shadows, she finally swung her legs off the bed, and sat up straight. Again she huffed into the quiet air, a little less aggressively this time, and dug her toes into the plush red carpet underfoot just to have something to concentrate on. Why did it feel like she had some <i>responsibility</i> over the situation? That was ridiculous.</p><p>Stupid as it was, she couldn’t help but think it.</p><p>There was much she could do, in theory, to put the Inquisitor to rest… her mind, locked almost permanently in a state of tactical focus - a result of decades of unimaginably rigorous training - defaulted to force. Quick and easy. She could put just about anyone to sleep with her psychic ability. Drogan wouldn’t like it (quite understandably… the thought of stripping him of such agency left a bad taste in the Interrogator’s mouth) but this was one of those times he needed someone else to step in and figure out what was best for him since he was no longer in a place to do that himself.</p><p>In theory, she could do it. But in reality, it would be impossible. She could put <i>herself</i> to sleep if she was that desperate to rest… and there was a reason she’d never done that. The same reason she, outside of some <i>very</i> controlled environments, almost never used her abilities. They were far too powerful. She simply <i>couldn’t</i> control them. Within the retinue it was common knowledge that if Anastasia McCoy ever harnessed the powers of the warp out in the field, two things were true - firstly, that it was quite literally a life-or-death situation, and a choice she did <i>not</i> want to make, devastation she <i>did not</i> want to wreak upon her surroundings <i>or</i> her comrades. Secondly, was that they should run for their very lives.</p><p>So, the Interrogator mused internally that <i>psychic manipulation</i> was out of the question.</p><p><i>But maybe… there </i>is<i> something I can do…</i></p><p>A lump of anticipation, weightless - one that was quite unfamiliar to the ever-confident acolyte - took seat in her stomach as though it was an inflating balloon, the invasive feeling growing only more intense the longer she even considered the idea. She stood, and began pacing the spacious chamber in a bid to somehow walk it off. Indeed, the Interrogator had always been <i>very persuasive</i> when she wanted to be… however much of that was simply looks and however much was genuine talent, she couldn’t quite be sure, but she’d always been able to find a way to get people to do what she wanted. It had come in handy over the course of her career. And the <i>Inquisitor</i>…</p><p>At the mere thought, a smirk pulled at the corners of her mouth. In her experience, Drogan had always been particularly easy to persuade… and in her experience, he’d always slept well straight after a good fuck.</p><p>The girl shook her head as though it might clear out the memories. That was a long time ago. Back then getting the Inquisitor into bed was a simple matter of mutual desire… and a promise that whatever happened between them wouldn’t be allowed in the way of their work - no matter how wrong <i>that</i> had been in retrospect. After so many years, he might not be so easily seduced.</p><p><i>But it’s still worth a shot</i>, the Interrogator thought to herself as she crossed the chamber, opened the wardrobe that took up an entire wall, and began rifling through a set of pull-out drawers. She stuffed thick, ebony hair behind her ear, out of the way, as she searched through the clothing. It <i>had</i> to be worth trying… after all, the situation was getting quite desperate, and for a total lack of better options…</p><p>And to say she <i>missed</i> him in that way, missed everything she and him had been, was something of an understatement.</p><p>Of all the retinue - the arbitrary assortment of humans gathered over the decades from all corners of the galaxy to fill whatever role needed filling at the time, and the arsenal of sizeable gangs and feral armies that stood by, ready to wreak devastation at a single word from the Inquisitor’s vox… of all of them, Anastasia had the honour of being one of Drogan’s closest. Everything else they were or had been aside, they were good friends, and that they trusted one another with their respective lives simply went without saying. Whatever might happen down there, she already knew he wouldn’t think any less of her for it.</p><p>It was worth a shot, and already a plan began to form in Anastasia’s mind - how exactly she’d go about it. She leaned further over the open drawers, pushing aside silken nightgowns and peeling delicate, fragile items of lingerie off one another and placing these carefully aside - it had been some time since she’d had any real use for any of these garments, and maybe that was why she remembered exactly where she’d left it.</p><p>At the very bottom of the drawer, the Interrogator found it - a tiny, satin bow the colour of fresh blood, stitched onto a gathered, black strap gave away the exact outfit she was looking for the moment her gaze fell upon it. Gently pushing everything else aside, she pulled out the garment. After sliding the drawers shut, she straightened up and inspected the thing - draped over a splayed palm - with some measure of repulsion.</p><p>It was a hideous thing, really. A sheer, black babydoll with a body that flared out under her chest and arms, and flared yet again at the gathered hem. Another crimson bow adorned the molded and underwired middle, the thing so large it drooped under its own fragile weight. More red satin outlined the cups at the upper edges, where clothing ended and tits were exposed. Yes, it was hideous, and the girl still couldn’t quite fathom why she’d bought the thing in the first place… but for whatever reason, this outfit had always driven the Inquisitor wild. Particularly so. Before Drogan, it had lived at the bottom of her lingerie drawer, and after him, had reclaimed its rightful place there.</p><p>Anastasia quickly stripped off her nightgown and threw it carelessly on the massive bed. She donned the sheer garment, fastened it shut at the clasps between her breasts, and after pulling a little at the flowing body in a failed attempt to work out the kinks gained from long-term storage, shut one of the wardrobe doors and surveyed herself somewhat reluctantly in its mirror. She couldn’t help but grimace at her own reflection. Feeling attractive, or in <i>any</i> way desirable in that outfit was almost impossible, yet the acolyte knew beyond any doubt that it was the right equipment for the job.</p><p>Finally, the girl opened another drawer and after a little searching, retrieved a matching thong and stepped into it, pulling it over her hips. She also donned a pair of thick socks, simply for the journey - short as it would be - and shut the wardrobe. After grabbing a white dressing gown from the back of the chamber door, she crept out into the quiet, dark hallway and made for the elevator.</p><p>Even as she descended down to the laboratory levels and made her way along the dark, naked corridors of the facility, clothed feet treading somewhat uncomfortably on the metal grating beneath her, Anastasia met no one, passing only the slack-jawed Servo-turrets that gazed vacantly down at her. As she walked she stole a glance up at the dutiful guards. The lifeless eyes that followed her path were unfocused, and decaying.</p><p>She journeyed confidently - not trying to draw any real attention to herself yet unafraid at the thought of doing so - until a familiar yet unsettling clatter of metal on metal, sporadic yet almost constant, reached her ears amid the groaning pipes all around that had become background noise so many years before. Zurik’s <i>unique</i> footsteps, somewhere in the next room.</p><p>The acolyte’s pace quickened just a little, almost jogging by the time she reached the doorway, and her attention fell upon the lone Tech-priest, still awake and still working tirelessly. Like all the Tech-priests, Zurik had replaced most of his fragile, human body with machinery over the years, but this man had actually been severed at the hips, his whole lower half swapped out for eight gigantic, multi-jointed legs that made Anastasia think of some kind of huge steel spider. And the scuttling sound as he hauled around the unopened crates in the room and set about organising their contents, was awfully reminiscent too. To the acolyte, the sound hit the brain wrong for that exact reason, and provoked quite a visceral response.</p><p>“Zurik?”</p><p>The girl hardly whispered, but still the Tech-priest looked up from his boxes, and the small cannisters piled up in his arms. Thin mechadendrites wrapped around a couple and placed them aside, and then retracted straight away into the confines of the man’s robe.</p><p>“Miss McCoy,” he greeted with a measure of disinterest in his raspy voice that Anastasia knew was unintentional. Augmented eyes - small, bright, yellow searchlights in heavy metal sockets jammed straight into his patchwork skull - returned to his cannisters.</p><p>Zurik paid no attention to the girl’s choice of clothing. Anastasia should’ve felt at least a <i>little</i> exposed, crossing the facility in a tiny kimono that didn’t cover her all that much more than the outfit underneath and wasn’t tied well enough to hide what <i>was</i> underneath, but at the Kalkys facility, and the Manufactorum… she’d learned she didn’t have to worry about that. Before ever interacting with the Tech-priests, and the gigantic, obsidian-armoured space marines of the Deathwatch they sometimes worked with out in the field, the latent sexuality that was there in almost all <i>regular</i> people had never really crossed her mind - had simply been a given. Before meeting Tech-priests and space marines, she’d never known anyone truly sexless before. That thing that had been lacking, she couldn’t quite figure out what it was for a long time - something in the body language of normal humans that those men just didn’t have. Anastasia thought about it now, as she studied the Tech-priest’s movements.</p><p>“What brings you here so late?” Zurik asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.</p><p>The Interrogator shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”</p><p>It wasn’t a lie - not that she felt any particular need to be truthful with Zurik about her intentions. “What are you doing? We have servitors to take care of shipments.”</p><p>Zurik didn’t react to that, scuttling across the octagonal room again and provoking a fresh wave of nausea in the acolyte with each little tap of each scythe-like leg on the grating. “We’re one short for the time being,” he said simply. “B 14-80 met an unfortunate end some hours ago. A replacement has been ordered but someone still has to unpack the shipment.”</p><p>Anastasia nodded. “What happened to the servitor?”</p><p>“It put itself in the way of Lord Drogan’s temper… quite unfortunate, really.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“He threw it down the chasm.”</p><p>“Mmhm.”</p><p>“Better a servitor than one of us.”</p><p>“Naturally.”</p><p>She paused for a moment. “…Where is he, do you know?”</p><p>Those round, yellow lights met her own eyes, the Tech-priest pausing in his task for a moment. “Where else? He’s still working on the Scourge. He was at the power core the last time I saw.”</p><p>“Thanks Zurik.”</p><p>“Lord Drogan hasn’t slept in several days.”</p><p>“Yeah. I know. A lesser man would’ve passed out days ago.”</p><p>“It’s quite dangerous, really. In his current state he risks unintended damage to the Scourge.”</p><p>“Utterly needless,” the Interrogator agreed absently, already planning her escape from the scuttling Tech-priest. “I’m gonna go see if I can talk any sense into him.”</p><p>With that she doubled back, crossing corridors she’d already travelled and turning off towards the laboratories- or at least, past them. The howls and snarls and <i>screams</i> of their specimens were audible here, those coupled with the rattling and banging surely of alien bodies against secure caging getting louder for a time as she passed the rough location of one of the Xenos’ holding zones and fading into nothing as she moved past.</p><p>Upon reaching the end of the corridor, the girl pushed a button on the wall. It glowed green and the door - emblazoned with the iconography of the Adeptus Mechanicus like pretty much everything else in the facility - separated itself at the middle, the gigantic chiselled cog-and-skull dividing. The respective halves of the door slid aside with the hissing and groaning of long-suffering, hidden hydraulics.</p><p>As she entered the chamber beyond, she was bathed in the soft, pale blue glow of floodlights on every level, that settled upon everything inside the massive, monochrome space and threw hazy shadows onto the walls. The unrelenting sunlight outside suddenly seemed many worlds away as she craned her neck up, and surveyed the cylindrical, metal body of the Psychic Scourge, taking in its glory. No matter how many times she saw it, surely that sense of awe would never leave her. It was <i>glorious</i>. The firing core alone was probably the biggest thing she’d ever seen - the biggest thing that couldn’t take flight among the stars, anyway. The column rose up into the seemingly-endless cavern just about as far as she could see, the firing array at the very top obscured by many tiers of walkways crossing in from all directions above her.</p><p>From the very ground level, the weapon was a truly humbling sight, and the Interrogator couldn’t help but feel disturbingly insignificant next to it, her neck beginning to hurt as she stared, almost hypnotised by the scale and the artificial lights. She mused internally that it made her appreciate just how small she really was in this world… let alone the whole galaxy. There was only one experience that had the same effect, and Anastasia cast her mind back for a moment, recalling the first time she’d ever seen <i>that</i>. When she left Kennaz aboard Drogan's starship - looking out the viewport and seeing that unquantifiable sphere that, for the first nineteen years of her life, had been her home. She’d been unable to even try picking out whatever tiny space on that planet she might have lived on. It was a near-maddening experience… it was enough to fuck with <i>anybody’s</i> head.</p><p>Trying as hard as she could to cast that feeling aside, Anastasia continued across the metal bridge, climbing up the few shallow steps as she came to them. She stood upon a circular walkway just like the ones up above, and beneath the grating underfoot, there was nothing but the chasm. There were railings all around, barely coming up to knee-height on the acolyte - the only thing preventing an exhausted Inquisitor from meeting the same fate as whatever servitor had irked him earlier, and falling to his death.</p><p>Luckily, Inquisitor Drogan was at the very centre, knelt down next to the power core.</p><p>Anastasia approached, quietly and slowly, observing him- concerned as she was, in mild fascination. The glowing cradle was emptied of its power source (thank the Emperor for that, the Interrogator thought to herself - if Drogan messed with that thing the servitors would be scraping his remains off the chamber walls for weeks) and one of the intricate, arched panels had been pulled off the power core and lay several feet away. The Inquisitor busied himself with its contents, with most of his upper half hidden inside the console - he hadn’t noticed the acolyte was even there. Various tools were scattered about his armoured form, his knee pushed one of them aside as he shifted his weight - the thing slipped through the metal grating and was lost to the chasm. Anastasia wondered whether it was one of many.</p><p>The Interrogator leaned against the power core, setting an elbow atop its surface as she watched. Drogan - still either unaware of her presence or unwilling to tear himself away from his task to address it - cursed a few times under his breath. A loud crack made Anastasia jump, and the Inquisitor yelped in surprise as he was met with an electric shock.</p><p>“Emperor, <i>stop</i> already before you kill yourself!” the girl cried, driven more by emotion than sense, the words spilling out before she could stop them.</p><p>Drogan was still in the silence that followed. The acolyte supposed he was only now aware of her being there - either that or he’d simply stopped working because he was reeling from his shock. Either way, he finally surfaced, removing himself from the inside of the console and straightening up to meet the girl’s eye. He looked awful - Anastasia couldn’t help but think it. Dark circles had settled under his eyes despite how alert he was as he addressed her. Gene-buking had resulted in - among many other things - a man who was capable of functioning fairly well without sleeping for a week, but that didn’t mean it had to go on any longer than this. Zurik was right - it was dangerous, not just to the weapon, but to him.</p><p>He didn’t stand up. “You should be sleeping, Ana,” he said simply, his voice a low drawl that echoed around the enormous room.</p><p>“I could say the same about you,” she replied without missing a beat. She flashed him a quick smirk.</p><p>He didn’t return it. The Inquisitor’s attention drifted briefly from his student’s face, noting her appearance in a way that set him far apart from the spider-legged Tech-priest. Despite this, he didn’t pass comment. He instead returned to work.</p><p>The acolyte decided on a proper answer. “I couldn’t sleep. …What are you doing to the power core?”</p><p>Drogan responded without getting back out of the console. “Making adjustments.”</p><p>Anastasia rolled her eyes. “For what purpose?”</p><p>“They should improve the efficiency of fuel transfer from the power source.”</p><p>“How long will that take?”</p><p>“Why are you here?” He surfaced again. Dark eyebrows knitted together in a small frown, deepening the heavy scarring that covered the one side of his head. “You have not come just to pester me with pointless questions.”</p><p>The Interrogator straightened up defensively. “I came to see what you were doing.”</p><p>“You came because you want sex.”</p><p>Anastasia cursed herself for how hard she blushed, feeling her cheeks grow hot as Drogan again met her eyes. He was the one smirking now, evidently enjoying the girl’s discomfort. She couldn’t help but avert her gaze.</p><p>But she supposed she should be glad he was getting straight to the point. “What makes you think I came for sex?”</p><p>“Why else would you come to me in your shortest bathrobe? I know you too well.”</p><p>“…Well… …maybe I do want sex,” she replied simply, deciding in spite of her new-found embarrassment that the best course of action was to just follow the Inquisitor’s lead. “But is that so terrible? It’s… hard to find men outside the retinue I can be with <i>reliably</i>, I’m surrounded by Tech-priests… it’s been a long time since I’ve been with <i>anyone</i>… during nights like these it gets lonely, doesn’t it? Besides… it never got better than you.”</p><p>“We are forbidden, Ana.”</p><p>He grabbed a soldering iron from the array of tools at his feet, and re-entered the open console.</p><p>The girl’s heart sunk a little at that. “Yeah. I know we are.”</p><p>She knelt down to his level, bare shins and knees pressing uncomfortably into the solid grating as she did. “Don’t you <i>ever</i> think about it though? I remember you being just as upset about that ruling as me. …At the time. Do you miss it? I know <i>I</i> miss it.”</p><p>“We are forbidden.”</p><p>Some hot, unwelcome feeling stabbed at the acolyte’s gut - she didn’t know whether she was hurt, or actually angry at Drogan’s response. The same thing, over and over. That was all she’d get out of him.</p><p>But whatever that feeling was, she put it aside. “Is that <i>all</i> you’ll say about it?”</p><p>“It is the truth of the matter. Nothing you or I say now will change it.”</p><p>The two of them hadn’t actually had this conversation since their relationship had met that forcible end. On a few occasions Anastasia had <i>tried</i> to steer the topic in that direction, to actually talk about what had happened, what had gone <i>wrong</i>… but Drogan’s resistance had been so obvious the whole thing seemed pointless.</p><p>She’d come down there with <i>seduction</i> in mind, but now they were actually having this discussion she found she didn’t really care about any of her previous plans.</p><p>“So, what now then?” Anastasia began, no longer able to hide the hurt. A shrill bite accompanied her every word. “We’re going to… just keep on without even <i>talking about it?</i> You act like none of it ever happened, Drogan, and…”</p><p>The Interrogator found she didn’t know how to finish that thought. Fingers raked through raven hair as she huffed loudly into the cold chamber air, and moved off the grating - knees earning a little respite as she swung her legs around and sat against the power core. Now her bare ass was subject to the hard floor - the kimono she wore wasn’t long enough to cover her in this position.</p><p>The powerful odour of burning metal eventually met her. The girl breathed it in, tasting it bitter on her tongue, the by-product of whatever Drogan was doing in the console. So many times he’d tried to explain it all to her, what he <i>was</i> doing, but the scope of the project had simply been beyond her. Intelligent as she was, she just couldn’t compare to the Inquisitor’s brilliant mind.</p><p>Still he was silent, immersed entirely in his work, so Anastasia cast her gaze up at the walkways high above, and kept on. “I know what’s done is done, and we can’t change it. But that doesn’t mean we should hide from it and… pretend it doesn’t hurt.”</p><p>She waited a few moments for a response, receiving nothing but the dull rasp of ceramite moving against metal as the Inquisitor worked.</p><p>Now everything was coming out - things she’d wanted to say for years but never had. Each word carried the weight of tears that didn’t fall down her face. “I’ve had to stand back and watch you with other women and pretend it’s not been killing me. For years… …Doesn’t it bother <i>you?</i> Seeing me with other men?”</p><p>Finally, Drogan emerged from the console, offering a quick glance from around it as he placed the soldering iron somewhere at his feet. “No one is asking you to <i>watch</i> me with other women,” he said derisively, yet despite that there was a clear note of irritation in his words. Once again, he slunk away into the power core.</p><p>“Drogan!” Anastasia cried out, throwing her head back and huffing aggressively. “I don’t need jokes right now! Give me <i>something!</i>”</p><p>She was about ready to use her unstable, devastating powers to <i>destroy</i> the damn power core, just so the Inquisitor might pay her a little attention. Yet she easily put aside that urge. Drogan might not <i>kill</i> her if she did that… but he certainly would never forgive her.</p><p>“What do you want me to say?” the Inquisitor snapped, his calm demeanour fast dissolving. He gripped hard onto the console’s rim, augmetic hand meeting the metal box with a sudden, loud clang that echoed several times about the chamber.</p><p>Still he didn’t look at her. “Do you want me to tell you I was <i>devastated?</i>”</p><p>“If it’s how you felt, then yes! Please tell me!”</p><p>“Of course I was devastated, Ana! More than you realise! What else do you want to hear? What do you want to be told? Do you want me to tell you we’d be married by now if not for that conclave? <i>What do you want?</i>”</p><p>“I just want <i>something!</i> Don’t you think I deserve that?”</p><p>The acolyte cursed herself internally for even <i>thinking</i> the word, yet it still found its way out. “Don’t you think I need closure? Don’t <i>you</i> need that?”</p><p>Drogan had long since abandoned his work. “<i>Closure</i> does not change the way things are. We must accept the decision… and move on.”</p><p>“That’s good enough for you, but not for me! You won’t even <i>look</i> at me!”</p><p>She finally began to cry, small hitches of breath she tried desperately to hide as the tears rolled down her cheek, unable to ignore the growing lump in her throat. She wouldn’t cry in front of Drogan - or anyone for that matter. She felt ashamed as she cried. She felt stupid, sat there beneath the Scourge wearing barely anything, crying over things that happened so long ago. Why had she come? Was it worth feeling so ashamed?</p><p>“I’m pouring my heart out here, Drogan, and you won’t even do <i>that</i> for me! Why won’t you <i>look at me?</i>”</p><p>The Inquisitor’s augmetic hand gripped so hard on the rim of the power core, the thick case began to bend under the pressure. A heavy, angered sigh came from within the casing - Anastasia knew him well enough to know he was trying his hardest to calm down… whether for a reasonable exchange, she couldn’t tell. She waited. Usually Drogan calmed down after he’d broken something - most of the time something worthless - or thrown a servitor down into that pit from which nothing could be saved.</p><p>Eventually, he saw fit to back out of the metal box entirely, and left behind whatever he was doing in there. He came to kneel in front of his acolyte. He smelled awful - he hadn’t slept in a week so it stood to reason he hadn’t showered, either. Anastasia turned to meet his gaze, glowing blue eyes that, now he gave her what she asked for, fixed on her with an intensity that might’ve made a lesser woman cower.</p><p>“Do you want to know <i>why</i> I do not want to <i>look at you?</i>”</p><p>Now he said that, now he’d actually admitted he was going against his own wishes - the girl was hesitant. Words came less easily than a simple nod of her head, so she gave only the latter.</p><p>His frown deepened, eyebrows knitting together as he stared her down. There was something strangely ferocious behind his every word. “Ana… at the <i>best</i> of times it is all I can do to remind myself we are forbidden. When you come to me dressed like <i>this</i>…”</p><p>The Inquisitor gestured vaguely to his student’s tiny robe.</p><p>“...Practically <i>begging</i> me for sex…” he continued, seeming to choose his words very carefully as he spoke, not taking his eyes from hers for a moment. “It is the ultimate test of my will. I have no choice but to look away… lest I break.”</p><p>Those words echoed about the cavernous room, and Anastasia said nothing in return. Stunned into silence by the admission, suddenly she found herself not knowing <i>what</i> to say. This changed everything.</p><p>Under the Inquisitor’s glare, unrelenting, the words came ever harder.</p><p>Eventually, she was able to try. “So you <i>do</i> want it.”</p><p>She got back up, kneeling before him - even just knelt there, Drogan still towered over her - such was the size of him. The acolyte didn’t need him to answer - she could practically feel the desire oozing from him like a heat that didn’t actually make her warm, but still caused a nervous sweat to prick at her temples. She put a hand to her forehead, brushing it away, and pushing the damp hair off her face.</p><p>“...If you want it,” the girl kept on, watching the exasperation form on Drogan’s strong features as she did. “Then why don’t you let yourself break? -And don’t say, <i>we are forbidden</i> again, fuck the conclave! <i>Either one</i> of us might die <i>tomorrow</i>, and what would their opinions matter then?”</p><p>As she said it, the Interrogator pulled at the loose, easy knot keeping her kimono held together, revealing the outfit beneath that Drogan so far hadn’t had more than mere glimpses of. The change in his demeanour was predictable, and dramatic - he seemed to freeze up the moment his acolyte exposed her body. Anastasia couldn’t help but let the anticipation fill her up as she knelt there like that, laid out before the Inquisitor like some irresistible delicacy on a platter, watching wide eyes rove her olive skin. The girl leaned back, bracing an arm behind her to support her weight as she shifted, offering him a better view. She let her legs spread a little, revelling in how eagerly his gaze followed.</p><p>At that moment she knew she had him, as she watched the winged insignia at his powerful chest, and the massive pauldrons atop his shoulders, how they rose and fell noticeably deeper than before. The Inquisitor couldn’t take his eyes away if he tried, and she knew it.</p><p>“Fuck the conclave,” Anastasia repeated quietly, hardly a whisper, doing her best to fix his gaze to no avail. “No one has to know.”</p><p>That seemed to be all the encouragement Drogan needed to break - the final thing to push him over the edge and into the girl’s arms. Anastasia caught him as he dived in, upon her, the worn leather of a gauntlet and the rough metal of his right hand scraping at her back as he pulled her in, his lips crashing onto hers so suddenly it took the acolyte a moment to realise just what was happening. Quickly, she caught up. She let him into her mouth gladly, forceful tongue pushing in deep, dominating her own and flooding her veins with an intoxicating need. <i>He</i> was intoxicating… and so was the low, hungry growl into her own mouth that she drank in greedily. When the Inquisitor pulled her closer into his armoured body it actually hurt, but… it was the closest she’d felt to him in years.</p><p>Drogan broke away only to gaze deeply into her eyes, his blue - pupils blown and irresistible - fixed on her emerald green, glowing just as brightly as his own. His parted lips grazed against hers, over and over, every couple of seconds mouth and tongue met ever so briefly just to be torn apart again. The acolyte had broken a dam, and she was ready to suffer the consequences. The Inquisitor forced her legs further apart and settled fully between them and only now was the girl aware of how he dominated her - naked flesh pressed painfully into the grating as he pushed her further down, rough hands groping at her breasts.</p><p>“Not- <i>here?</i>” Anastasia broke away to say it, unable to hide the surprise - and the trepidation - in her words. The motion was entirely subconscious, yet she found herself casting her gaze around the chamber as best she could from her place beneath Drogan’s huge form, like she was making sure they really were alone.</p><p>Almost straight away, his lips were on hers again, tongues meeting for just a moment. Finally, he too broke away to speak.</p><p>“No…”</p><p>The word was carried on a heavy exhale, hot on the girl’s lips before he claimed her mouth again. “Not here…”</p><p>The Inquisitor straightened up, pulling his acolyte in ever closer, uncomfortably so against his armoured body.</p><p>“For the record…” he whispered. “We would.”</p><p>“We would… what?”</p><p>He held her gaze with such an intensity she couldn’t have looked away even if she’d wanted to. “Be married.”</p><p>With that he led her away, along the walkway and down those few steps - Drogan was surprisingly steady on his feet for a man who hadn’t slept in a week - and his hand sunk onto the console to the left of the door. Gradually it parted, and they kept on through the dark corridors beyond. At the best of times it was hard to keep up with the Inquisitor’s pace - he was quick on his feet and his every stride was long, yet the grating under Anastasia’s socks made keeping up almost impossible. She lagged behind until reaching the elevator, where Drogan stood, waiting calmly for her to catch up.</p><p>Together they made their way inside, and as the door shut they found themselves in a darkness that, after suffering the daylight for weeks now, was refreshing. They began to ascend, and the Interrogator felt the lurch in her stomach with the platform’s movement. Again, the Inquisitor was upon her - a quick yet deep kiss at first, then another, and another. Soon the pair were a tangle of bodies - hot skin, hard metal and flowing fabrics, unable to tear themselves away. Inside, Anastasia was glowing. It was just like old times.</p><p>And like old times, they managed to break away as the platform stilled, and the doors, always emblazoned with that cog-and-skull, parted. In the past, they’d have separated lest they seem unprofessional to their comrades, but now they were resolute that no one should know what was about to happen. They walked as quietly as possible through the hab level hallways, the deep red carpet beneath them obscuring every step until reaching the Interrogator’s bedroom.</p><p>As soon as they were inside and the door slid shut behind, she was caged somewhat uncomfortably within Drogan’s arms, caught between the unforgiving ceramite and the rusted, jagged edges of his augmetic arm that cut inadvertently at her dressing gown, and the skin beneath, as she turned around to properly face him. Even though she stood on tiptoe to kiss him, he still had to stoop to meet her. It was worth the effort though, Anastasia thought vaguely to herself as she placed her hands to the armour at the Inquisitor’s powerful chest, feeling an excitement well up inside her that she hadn’t known in years.</p><p>Fingers played vaguely with riveted, golden trim as Anastasia broke away, lips still grazing his. “What should I take off first?”</p><p>He claimed her mouth again, somewhat urgently before he whispered his response into her ear, nose nuzzling into her hair.</p><p>“The greaves…”</p><p>He actually sounded more than a little uncomfortable, and Anastasia didn’t need to ask why. She dropped unceremoniously to her knees and pushed aside the tattered, decorative loincloth at Drogan’s belt - and with a swiftness that came only with years of practice, she was able to reach into the crevices of the armour and find tiny catches that were practically invisible to the untrained eye. The ceramite plates were far lighter than they looked as she lifted them away, one by one, and placed them carefully at the Inquisitor’s feet.</p><p>The acolyte cast her gaze back up to the obvious tent in his leggings, and pulled the black garment down far enough to free his cock, smiling to herself as it sprung out, already completely hard and ready to go. That weightless feeling welled up in her chest as she, ever so gently, wrapped a hand around the base and felt his whole body stiffen - how could she have forgotten just how big he was? Had it been <i>that long?</i></p><p>“Do it, Ana…”</p><p>Again she pushed aside the loincloth, trailing her tongue over her lips to wet them, and parting them a little as she placed a gentle kiss on the head. As she did, Anastasia squeezed ever so slightly with her other hand, feeling Drogan throb beneath her light grip. He stiffened even more.</p><p>The gauntleted hand found its way to her head, fingers weaving through long hair and taking hold. “<i>Do it.</i>”</p><p>The girl obliged, parting her lips further and letting him in - it was a tight fit given the size of him, and Anastasia was still certain <i>psychic manipulation</i> allowed it to happen at all… whether that was true or not, she took him in, more of him than she’d ever taken in any other man - there was more <i>of</i> him than any other man, that much went without saying - until the dark hairs at his base tickled her nose, and most of the thick shaft was down her throat. <i>Psychic manipulation</i>… she was certain of it, even if Drogan had never told her it was so. It shouldn’t have been possible to take this much of <i>any</i> man.</p><p>Once she’d swallowed up all of him, Anastasia settled on a steady pace. She was rewarded with a low groan from the Inquisitor - stealing a glance up she found his eyes were shut as he lost himself to the moment… it must’ve been the first time in days he’d let himself do that - and the fist around whole locks of her hair tightened, not painfully so but enough that he could dictate her pace. She let him take control, breathing steady as he bucked into her mouth and down her throat, her fingertips digging harder into his strong thighs as his pace grew more intense.</p><p>“<i>That’s enough-</i>”</p><p>Suddenly he pulled out - judging by how deeply his armoured chest rose and fell above her, Anastasia guessed he didn’t want to enjoy it <i>too</i> much. Not yet. As Drogan’s grip on her hair relented completely, the acolyte stood again, tasting the precum on her lips, and resumed her unfinished task of stripping the power armour. She moved around him, again finding catches the Inquisitor couldn’t possibly reach on his own and lifting off the backpack, placing it with care against the bed frame before removing massive pauldrons, trenchcoat, chest plates and all the other decorative items he'd collected over the years. He helped where he could.</p><p>Finally, the Inquisitor removed his boots and leggings, and pulled off his undershirt, and as Anastasia placed both hands to his solid torso, fingers trailing across old scars and newer wounds on his smooth chest, she couldn’t help but stare. She couldn’t <i>ever</i> stop herself, and there were days she utterly hated being the one who had to help him in and out of the armour.</p><p>But none of that mattered now. She was getting what she wanted from him, somehow she’d made it happen. The acolyte led Drogan to the bed where she eased him down, and stripped off the black babydoll before the Inquisitor had any more opportunity to tear it off. She stepped out of her thong as she climbed up on the bed too, straddling him, feeling his length rest stone-hard against her folds and relishing the pressure of him against her clit as she moved her hips.</p><p>Drogan broke his student’s gaze, stormy eyes roving the dumb smirk spread wide across her face. “It has been a long time since you looked at me like this…” he drawled. “What is the matter?”</p><p>Still he rubbed herself against him. “Oh, nothing…”</p><p>“It cannot be <i>nothing</i>… do you want to tell me?”</p><p>“It’s just…” She placed a soft kiss on his parted lips, running curious fingers through his raven hair. “If I’d known… sooner… I think I’d have tried to break you a long time ago.”</p><p>Anastasia let him position himself before sinking onto him, taking hold of his shoulders - one metal and one flesh - to keep steady, and watching the sheer delight wash over her Inquisitor’s face as he claimed more depth. Again he let his eyes close, slowly, and he offered a low hum of pleasure - a lazy yet satisfying sound that was lost in his throat as they kissed. The acolyte’s own breaths came laboured and heavy as he filled her up, more than her body should’ve been able to take, guiding her down onto his naked lap with hands on her hips, as gentle as could be.</p><p>Soon enough there was no more length to take and like old times, the girl couldn’t quite fathom how she’d taken all of him in. And for a while she simply stayed in place, simply adjusting to the feeling of him deep inside of her. As she knelt there, legs trembling a little, Drogan took control. He swore in his native tongue - a heavy whisper into the girl’s hair as he began rocking up into her, hands still steady on her ass, squeezing greedily.</p><p>Anastasia was damn near paralysed by pleasure. Her mouth pressed into the muscles of the Inquisitor’s chest, and as he fucked her, she keened against heated skin, over and over, tasting the sweat and dirt that had built up under his armour all week, and letting it fill her nose. Her initial assessment had been right - he smelled awful, but she wasn’t prepared to wait for him to shower. She wouldn’t delay this a second longer than need be. Drogan was as good as she wanted him - and at that moment he’d settled on a pace he seemed to enjoy, and lifted her head with a single finger at her chin. He kissed her deeply.</p><p>Eventually the acolyte found it in herself to move, meeting his eyes, half-lidded and intoxicated, and meeting his hips as he bucked, a little faster now and just a little harder. Her hands came to rest on his expansive back as she rode him, fingers travelling across hard muscle and a lattice of thick, raised scars that covered his whole back and made the damage to his face look like beauty marks in comparison.</p><p>Suddenly Drogan grabbed her ass and pulled her up higher on his lap, and Anastasia cried out as he struck a <i>particularly</i> delightful spot further up inside than she <i>ever</i> thought possible. Her head spun. She could hardly see straight any more. The image of her Inquisitor swam vaguely before her eyes as she worked her fingernails into his skin in a fruitless bid to handle the pleasure.</p><p>Drogan gave a filthy moan, one he had no control over. Chest rising and falling dramatically against the acolyte’s, his movements halted, dick throbbing almost painfully hard inside of her. His eyes flashed with what Anastasia could only describe as feral blood-lust when they finally opened again, and met her own.</p><p>“Careful, Ana…” he growled.</p><p>She still hadn’t actually eased her nails out of his back, and still she didn’t take her eyes off his. The look she offered was ever so coy, and absolutely deliberate. She hadn’t <i>meant</i> to do it… but she knew the consequences of her actions - she knew full well how Drogan responded to a few deep scratches in the heat of the moment, she hadn’t forgotten that - and she was ready to suffer the consequences.</p><p>“Oh?” she whispered, so innocently, pushing his undercut aside with her nose and whispering the word into his ear, feeling his heart race against her own chest like it was about to burst, and relishing the pulsing of his cock between her thighs. “What did I do?”</p><p>The Interrogator dug her nails in just a little deeper. “Did I do <i>this?</i>”</p><p>She raked her nails across the Inquisitor’s back - not enough to draw blood or truly break the skin, but enough to shave off the topmost layer and leave angry, red trails in their wake. When she did, all the air left his lungs.</p><p>He didn’t say anything. Almost immediately he lifted the girl quite roughly off his dick, handling her with an inhuman ease, like she was almost weightless, carrying her effortlessly as he stood up. He gave a ferocious snarl, and threw her onto the bed. Anastasia - far too slow to react or even register what was happening while it <i>was</i> happening - cried out in shock as she slammed into the headboard with surprising force.</p><p>Still she herself was a little more resilient than the average human being - choice augmetic work made that much fact - and she recovered quickly, rolling onto her stomach and shifting down the bed just as Drogan climbed atop it, positioning herself in time for him to grab her hips from behind, lift up her ass and force his way between her thighs. He slammed into her, hilting fully in a single, punishing stroke that made the Interrogator scream. Thoughts of keeping quiet were decidedly beyond her now.</p><p>He settled into a pace that was nothing short of brutal - fingers of flesh and metal gripped the acolyte’s hips hard enough to shatter bones (though hers had been <i>deliberately</i> reinforced to prevent such an occurrence) as he pounded into her. Anastasia’s face pressed into the pillows, biting down painfully hard to muffle the wanton cries she just couldn’t hold back as Drogan fucked her like tomorrow would never come, and from her place she could hear him panting heavily, like he was on the verge of losing himself too.</p><p>Anastasia’s fingers dug into the pillows, the mattress, anything they could find as the climax building inside her finally consumed her, and she howled in abandon, every nerve in her body alight. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and after that she saw nothing, and her whole body seized as liquid gold flooded her veins. Vaguely she was aware of the room, and her lover - whose every move was like fire against that most sensitive spot inside of her, and she was vaguely aware of the sounds - the rhythmic crash of the headboard slamming into the wall with each of her Inquisitor’s urgent strokes, and heard his small moans as she spasmed uncontrollably on his shaft, over and over. There would be <i>no</i> hiding this from the rest of the retinue now.</p><p>She came down, gradually, her exhausted moans no longer given into the pillow but into the room. The Interrogator was limp like a ragdoll as her Inquisitor fucked her, harder still, and she was content for him to do whatever he wanted with her body. She was his to use - an item, made for his pleasure and his alone, and that was okay. It was <i>more</i> than okay. Behind her she felt his weight shift- atop her now, his right hand braced somewhere near her face, all his weight upon her, pressing her upper half ever further into the mattress, still rutting fiercely into her.</p><p>Again his hand was at her head, fingers weaving through sweat-soaked hair and gripping tight. Drogan pulled hard, yanking his girl’s head back and up to face him, his hot breath washing over her parted lips. The fire in his glowing eyes, she was able to see it for just a moment before he met her in a crushing kiss, biting hard on her lower lip whenever he could find it, still fucking her violently. Anastasia couldn’t help but moan into his mouth, feeling him trembling atop her now… that only ever meant one thing.</p><p>Suddenly, he broke the kiss. Each breath came ragged.</p><p>“I’m <i>coming, Ana…</i>”</p><p>With a final jerk of his hips, Drogan buried himself as deep inside as he possibly could, halting completely and giving a low, guttural groan. The grip on her hair tightened further. Against her own body the acolyte felt his every muscle stiffen and shudder as he came, and felt him spill somewhere further inside of her than she could reason. His heart pounded fiercely at her back and for a while he stayed right where he was, trembling just a little, breathing heavy. And the acolyte, trapped beneath his significant weight, could do nothing but wait for him to move.</p><p>Eventually he did. The grip on her hair was gone, and a strong arm snaked its way under her, across her stomach, covered in sweat, pulling her into a bizarre embrace. The Inquisitor pulled out, rolling onto his back just as he collapsed entirely on the mattress beneath him, and taking his Interrogator with him. Now free to move, Anastasia shifted a little, turning over to face him. Of course he still looked tired, the man hadn’t slept in a week - but his scarred features betrayed a peace that hadn’t been there before. With heavy-lidded eyes he gazed back up at her, grinning ever so slightly, not quite mirroring her own smile that spread from ear to ear.</p><p>“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he said quietly, still gazing vaguely up at her.</p><p>“What, for finally breaking you?” she replied, eyes narrowing further as her smirk widened. “I couldn’t be happier, it was like old times.”</p><p>She glanced away for a moment, her attention landing on the mannequin in the very corner of the bedroom upon which her battle armour sat - much newer and in far better condition than her Inquisitor’s was, the gold trim always sparkling far brighter - before returning it to him. “…Are you… are you glad I did?”</p><p>“There will certainly be complications in the near future… but it is nothing we cannot handle.”</p><p>Anastasia huffed just a little. “That doesn’t answer my question, Drogan.”</p><p>“You want to know whether you make me <i>happy?</i>”</p><p>“Yeah… something like that. …Are you? With me?”</p><p>He reached out, metal hand settling on the girl’s cheek. Hard thumb stroked the flawless skin, frozen in time just as much as his own. “You are beyond comparison.”</p><p>That was the best she’d get from Drogan - all the years they <i>had</i> spent together had taught her that much already. She bent down and pressed her lips to his, felt him meet the kiss, though lazily.</p><p>He was the one to end it. “I must return to the Manufactorum…” he murmured. “First thing tomorrow. I must retrieve the power source.”</p><p>Exhausted as she was, Anastasia’s eyes widened at that. “…Is it time?” she whispered, unable to hide the excitement in her words.</p><p>Drogan nodded once, slowly. His smile grew ever wider. “Indeed, it is time to test the Scourge. My vision will finally be realised.”</p><p>When he said that, the way his eyes lit up was undeniable. <i>This</i> was what really made him happy. Not her. And that… <i>was</i> okay, the Interrogator decided, settling down, nuzzling into his chest and wrapping her arms around his massive form as best she could. As she did, his release began to leak from between her thighs, trailing down her skin and collecting on the bed sheets. The hand that had settled somewhere at her shoulder came to rest absently on her waist.</p><p>If exterminating all xenos life was the only thing that made him happy… that was okay. All she really wanted was for him to be fulfilled - and she’d be right by his side when he saw his dream a reality.</p><p>“So… what happens now?” Anastasia opened her eyes, trying to meet his, but all she could see was the soft, glowing light from his augmetic arm casting shadows on the muscles of his chest. “…I mean, with… <i>us?</i>”</p><p>He didn’t respond. When Anastasia straightened up to address him properly, she found Drogan had fallen asleep. He was <i>actually sleeping, finally</i>. Somewhere along the way, the acolyte had forgotten what the purpose of all of this was.</p><p>Emerald eyes scanned her sleeping Inquisitor. Seeing him at peace was enough to ease her own mind - she’d done what she set out to do. Any questions she had about <i>that</i> could wait until the morning. She placed a delicate hand to his cheek, moving up, ghosting over his skin until her fingers combed through his hair. He looked far too peaceful to bother with any of that now, and if she left him to it, he’d most likely sleep through the night. Sometimes he woke up screaming, saying things in a language she didn’t understand - one of the Eldar tongues, that much she knew for sure - but with any luck that wouldn’t happen tonight.</p><p>Again she bent down, and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.</p><p>“I love you,” she whispered.</p><p>He couldn’t hear her. Not that that mattered much - he knew anyway.</p><p>It was with a sense of regret that Anastasia straightened up, turned over, and switched off the bedside lamp. As she pressed the switch in, the room was blanketed in darkness, save for the unforgiving light that still filtered in behind the fluttering blackout blinds. The girl’s lip curled into the tiniest smirk as she addressed it - somehow having Drogan sleeping by her side made it that much more tolerable. Again she nestled in close to him, taking his heavy metal arm and draping it over her small form, before pulling the covers over them both, and letting her eyes close. His heart beat slow against her back, and she tuned into the rhythm until fatigue claimed her too.</p>
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